


all dead, all dead

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: everything is fine, except joe's in new york.





	all dead, all dead

**Author's Note:**

> felt shitty about myself and my writing so i did this. vent piece kinda. enjoy i guess. (first piece of angst for this pairing?)

joe's in new york. 

everything is fine, except he got back a week ago and john still hasn't noticed the clothes he took. he always takes something; a shirt or a jacket or a sweater, because it reminds him of john while they're apart. thats part of the fun; a day or so after he gets home he'll get a text that says 'have you seen my green sweatshirt’ and he'll play along and say 'no ;)’ and then when they call that night he'll be wearing it and john will say 'so that's where it went.’ and he'll smile like he does and joe will feel a bit better about missing him. 

everything's fine, except his phone's been silent for three days. fifteen texts, unopened. five calls, missed. a picture message and three video chats, all blanked.

everything's fine, except  _ joe's in new york.  _

he can't sleep. he can't eat. he can't function. anxiety overhangs his every move. he'll be making coffee and his brain will supply 'he's gotten sick of you’. he'll be watching tv and the little voice in the back of his mind will taunt, 'he's realised he could do better.’ he'll be lying awake at night, waiting and waiting for his phone to chime, and with every beat of his heart his brain will replay the same message: 'he's gone. he's gone. he's gone.’

he tries not to let it be true. he begs it not to he true. but he can only assume the worst. he curls up in bed and holds john's sweater close. it smells like him. it's all joe has. he'll clutch it and try not to let the tears collect too heavily in his eyes. 

he's been home for a week when he gets the phone call. he sees that familiar name flash up on the screen and his heart skips a beat. he picks up so fast he almost drops his phone. 

“john?” he says quickly, heart racing. there's silence on the other end of the line. “john?”

there's another pause. 

“hi joe,” says the voice on the other end of the receiver. it's familiar; so close to john's, but still so far. “it's luke.”

shit. joe's heart sinks in his chest. dread settles over him like an icy blanket.

“what's going on?” he asks, not wanting to assume the worst. 

luke is quiet for a long time. joe can hear sniffing on the other end of the phone. 

“my dad-” his voice is strained. he clears his throat. “my father passed away last night.” 

joe feels the world stop. he almost drops his phone. tears spring to his eyes immediately, overflowing almost instantly and pouring down his face. 

_ dead, dead, dead, _ thumps his heart. 

he's silent for a long time. neither of them speak. he can tell luke is crying on the other end of the line. he's trying to hide it. he isn't doing well. 

joe can't speak. words won't come out. he just sits there and shakes his head. he refuses to believe it. john isn't dead. john won't ever die. he feels like a child trying to understand death for the first time. it doesn't make sense. john couldn't die. he’s _ john deacon _ . he was supposed to live forever.

his whole face feels numb. his ears are ringing. it's like he's just had his head knocked against the wall. he feels sick. 

“he died,” luke continues after a long silence, “in his sleep. we- we don't think- he was in any pain. he had a funny turn after you left. stayed in bed. moped about a bit. like he usually is when you go. but then…” luke trails off, and joe finds he doesn't want him to continue. he does anyway. “we took him to hospital. he got worse. out of it. unresponsive, mostly. but kept asking for you.”

joe feels his heart shatter at those words. he should have been there. he  _ could _ have been there. nobody told him. if he'd known, he'd have been on the first flight to london. he didn't want to think about it. he didn't want it to be true. why did nobody tell him? why wasn't he there? he could have been there!

luke takes a very shaky breath and then says, “i'm sorry to drop it on you like this. we just wanted you to know. you can come over here for the whole- the- you know.” joe can hear how he's struggling. he knows what luke means. 

“thank you,” he says, and his voice cracks. luke sniffs heavily. 

“i'll- um- i'll leave you to it,” he says, and joe feels like he should be offering condolences. he knows, after all, what it's like to lose your father. right now, though, the words won't come. they get all stuck in his throat. 

“i'm really sorry, luke,” he says finally, and the boy sighs.  _ too little too late, _ he thinks. 

“goodbye, joe,” luke replies, and hangs up the phone. 

joe isn't sure what to do then. he stays sat exactly where he'd been when he answered the phone, staring straight ahead. he's utterly silent for a long time. then the tears come. steady, constant tears, falling, hot and salty, down his cheeks. he cries into his hands, huge, wracking sobs that shake his entire body. he feels hollow. fragile. like at any moment he could shatter into a million pieces. he wishes he could. 

he cries until he feels like he's going to be sick, at which point he gets up and moves himself into the bedroom and cried some more. he cries until there's no tears left; until he's just sobbing dryly into john's green sweater. 

that was all he had left of him.

he sat there, then, on the edge of the bed, watching the light slowly filter away and get replaced by darkness. night stole in through the windows and consumed him. swallowed him whole. devoured him like prey. he let it. he laid back against the sheets and closed his eyes, burying his face in john's sweater and wishing he was there. his chest ached.

but this wasn't like the normal ache, like the ache he felt when john was in london and he was in new york. this was a different kind of ache. a raw hurt. an unstoppable pain that cut right through his heart. this ache was different. because this ache would never go away and it would never calm down and it would never stop hurting.


End file.
